Winter's Frigid Frost
by LithiumKiss
Summary: Ivan promises to give Matthew everything that he's ever wanted - love, acknowledgement, happiness, understanding - but is it even real? Is it just a twisted game? Ivan/Matthew.
1. Prologue

**AN: I found the plot outline for this last week and realised I'd written it at the start of the year and remembered that I didn't want to go ahead with it because I couldn't see it happening. (what possessed me to write RusCan is beyond me but...really. come on. you know you love it. and i know i secretly, deep down, love it as well. what is with me not writing anything for my true OTPs? except for germancest...) But then I thought there were one or two juicy bits that I could work with and made up an entirely new plot, thus writing this prologue as a nice little taster just to see what people think. There's not a huge lot to give criticism on here (i plan on this being the shortest chapter) except maybe characterisation. Feedback would be greatly appreciated. I suppose I'm allowing myself to post this 'cause I'm confident with Take This Silver Lining and where that's going so I'll still be updating that at a fairly regular rate. This, on the other hand, might be a little more sporadic, but we'll see.**

**Anywho, I'd best put some warnings in here just so the kiddies don't get too frightened when something suddenly POPS UP outta nowhere.  
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**This will contain mind-control and mental anguish (not too much, though - I don't want to go beyond the boundaries here - I don't want to fuck the characters up too badly and have them totally OOC). Mpreg (jokesss. I'm (not) sorry if that got your hopes up). Hurt and plenty of comfort, fluff, angst and Ivan's general Ivan-ness. And other pairings. Which will be a surprise. Hurhurrr.**

**Anyway, enough of my crap - which you probably haven't read anyway XD - and on with the story! Enjoy!~ **

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**I do not own Hetalia**

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**Prologue**

**3 July, 10:19 PM**

_Um…hi, you've reached my-Matthew William's phone. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you soon. Um…yeah, bye…"_

"Matt! I'm really sorry about your birthday! I was so busy preparing for mine and by the time I actually finished putting flags up everywhere and stuff I was so tired and then Arthur called and yeah but Mattie you understand right? I figured you weren't gonna have a huge party 'cause you're kind of quiet all the time and—hey guys, wait up! You can't leave the hero out-!" _Click._

**5 July, 2:02 AM**

_Um…hi, you've reached my-Matthew William's phone. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you soon. Um…yeah, bye…"_

"Mattie~! Why aren't you here! I've been…waiting for you to come! (giggle)

"Come on, you wanker. Time for bed.

"Ohhh, I know what you want, Mister Arthur Kirkland. I'm so—sorry— but I won't, and I repeat, I WON'T take advantage of a—a drunk person. That's not what heroes do!

"You're the one who's off their tit! I swear you—" _Click._

**8 July, 9:32 AM**

_Um…hi, you've reached my-Matthew William's phone. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you soon. Um…yeah, bye…"_

"Matthew, its Arthur here. Is everything alright? I didn't see you at Alfred's birthday party on Saturday and I know you're quiet and you do keep to yourself a fair bit, but I didn't spot you once. I understand you probably had a good reason for not being there, but I'm just a little worried. There were some purple elves running riot at Alfred's house just after the party and I'm worried that they might have kidnapped you, along with Tino Väinämöinen's ratbag of a dog. They're tiny little buggers but they can lift objects more than several times their own body weight—" _Click._

**8 July, 9:34 AM**

_Um…hi, you've reached my-Matthew William's phone. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you soon. Um…yeah, bye…"_

"Bloody machine cut me off. As I was saying, isn't that fascinating? They're actually related to the spine-tailed goblin – cousins, I believe. Nasty little blighters, the lot of them.

But I digress. I've invited Alfred to come along for tea tomorrow and I think you should join us - we rarely get to spend much time together. Well I must be off so cheerio!" _Click._

**8 July, 5:22 PM**

_Um…hi, you've reached my-Matthew William's phone. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you soon. Um…yeah, bye…"_

"_Bonsoir, _Mathieu. I think you may have forgotten about our lunch date today? Don't worry yourself over it; I know you must have a reason for not wanting to spend time with the wonderful _moi_ and there was a beautiful young waitress who was more than obliging to keep me company~ But we will have to reschedule. Are you available next Friday? _À bientôt._" _Click._

**12 July, 4:13 PM**

_Um…hi, you've reached my-Matthew William's phone. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you soon. Um…yeah, bye…"_

"Okay, Mattie, this isn't funny - you're really starting to worry me now. I thought you were just pissed at me 'cuz I forgot your birthday but both Arthur and Francis have told me that you weren't answering their calls or messages either and you normally always do so I'm worried. Is something wrong? Did somebody hurt you? 'Cuz if they did, I swear...grrr, I don't know what I will do but it ain't gonna be pretty. C'mon, please call me back." _Click._

**13 July, 11:54 AM**

_Um…hi, you've reached my-Matthew William's phone. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you soon. Um…yeah, bye…"_

"MATTHEW! Alright, I'm coming over there right now. And I'm gonna bring some of Arthur's death scones to ram down your throat if I find out that you're just doing this for kicks! Nobody makes a fool out of Alfred F. Jones!" _Click._

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_My dearest Matthew Williams,_

_To many, you are invisible. But to me, you are not._

_I always notice you when you walk into the room. I always notice how sad you are; how empty your eyes are._

_Why do I notice? _

_Because we are the same - I am sad, and I am empty._

_I always notice the way you listen to Alfred's speeches. I always notice the way you eagerly watch him, hoping that he will look up at you and see you. _

_Why do I notice?_

_Because we are the same - my attempts at seeking approval are all in vain. _

_I always notice when you smile. It is such a lovely, warming smile, but it saddens me that I don't get to see you smile more often. I always notice the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you laugh, but it saddens me that I don't get to hear you laugh more often. _

_Why do I notice?_

_Because we are the same - I don't smile or laugh; I don't have a reason to.  
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_Matthew Williams, will you make me happy if I make you happy? Will you approve of me if I show you how much I already approve of you? Will you make me smile and laugh if I make you smile and laugh again? _

_Will you become one with Russia?_

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**End Notes: **

**Arthur becomes a total weirdo when he talks about his magical creatures *was totally watching a documentary on the ABC whilst writing this***

**Bonsoir - good evening**

**À bientôt - see you later**


	2. Happy Birthday

**AN: Wow, thanks for all those reviews! I wasn't expecting to get so much feedback, so thank you! Now here's where the real story begins. :D  
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**I do not own Hetalia**

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**Happy Birthday  
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It happened every year.

Matthew Williams would get home at around 7 PM on June 30. Say hello to his polar bear whose name he never failed to forget. Give the bear a quick pat on the head. Carry his groceries inside and put them on the kitchen counter. One bag had twenty-odd bottles of his favourite brand of maple syrup and the other had all the ingredients he needed to make pancakes. He would put everything away, give his receipt the once over (not that it even mattered – Matthew wasn't the sort of person to go back to the supermarket just to claim back a few cents or dollars) and throw it into the garbage.

And for the rest of the night he waited. Waited silently by the phone with his eager heart beating in hope that somebody would call to wish him a happy birthday. Hope you have a wonderful day tomorrow!

But nobody called. And he expected them not to, but there was that small voice inside his head that constantly told him that maybe, just maybe, somebody would be considerate enough to pick up the phone, even if it was just to say hello. They didn't even have to remember his birthday.  
It was twenty-three minutes past midnight on July 1 when Matthew decided to go to bed. His stomach was growling, begging to be refilled, stuffed with food, but the Canadian chose to ignore it. What comfort would eating bring him anyway? He was too tired to make pancakes and by the time he actually managed to plate them up, he wouldn't have the energy to even pick up a fork to eat them.

It was Alfred's birthday in three days' time, Matthew thought to himself as he brushed his teeth, trying not to look at his reflection. No doubt the American was already preparing for the huge bash – knowing Alfred, he probably even had all the food ready. If there was one thing his brother was ever actually organised for, it was his own birthday. Matthew remembered when they were still living together that he had a list of guests already written up, weeks prior to the celebration. Even the people he hated were invited.

It was all about numbers. Popularity. Likeability. Lovability.

Matthew never wanted big parties with loud music and equally as loud guests. He never wanted all the food so he would have leftovers for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next week. He never wanted hundreds of presents that he would never find a use for. He never wanted to be put in the spotlight, to have everyone's attention. He never wanted to be called the 'birthday boy'. But that didn't mean he never wanted to be called on his birthday. That didn't mean he never wanted somebody to stop by just for a while. Didn't mean that he didn't want a cake; a small token to remember his birthday by.

Matthew turned on his bedside lamp and climbed into bed, pulling the light sheets over his legs. On the small dresser beside him were a pile of letters, bills and government notices alike. He adjusted his glasses so they sat a little lower on his nose and decided to go through them one by one. He was tired but he didn't feel like sleeping – if he could make the night (now actually 1 AM in the morning) drag on just that little bit longer, he wouldn't have to face the day so soon. It was just another day amongst the other 365, another square on the calendar, but there was that distant feeling of knowing that it was important somehow. It felt slightly different to every other day. Subtly different, softly different.

And it hurt.

One envelope in particular amongst the rest caught Matthew's attention. There was a post stamp with Cyrillic lettering with the colours white, red and blue on it. Weird. The Canadian was about to put it back with the other letters – it wasn't a rarity to receive letters from Russia, from Ivan Braginsky himself, after all – but what if it wasn't to do with business? What if it was a birthday card, just a letter to enquire after his health?

The blond shook his head. Ivan was...odd. Strange. He had this aura that made Matthew shiver; wilt a little on the inside whenever he was in the same room as him. Everything about him was so cold, and he'd heard so many bad things about him in the past. Stories, rumours. He'd heard about the way he would terrorise Toris, Eduard and Raivis and beat them within an inch of their lives with that faucet he carried around with him all the time. Alfred swore that he saw him attack Toris once but Matthew didn't care to hear the details – his brother always had a flair for melodrama.

The Canadian knew about what happened with the Polish at the very beginning of the Second World War but he wasn't willing to believe that Ivan would have condoned or encouraged his soldiers' behaviour. But Feliks was adamant in telling everybody just how badly he'd been treated by Ivan. Matthew had also heard that information from Alfred, who'd heard it from Toris, who'd been talking to Feliks. Apparently he had also abused his sisters at that time as well, but when Matthew asked Katyusha about it she was quiet and didn't have much to say. She'd said (tearfully) that he hadn't done anything wrong by her personally, that he was a good person, and that was that. Matthew didn't push the subject further.

When Gilbert had come to visit "his" New Prussia, Matthew had mentioned Ivan in passing and all Gilbert could say was that he hated him so much and he didn't want to hear that name come from Matthew's "sweet little mouth" again.

But he'd been so pleasant towards Matthew. When it came to hockey, he treated him like an equal, sometimes to the extent of a superior. Well, Matthew was pretty freaking good at the sport (they didn't call it his sport just for the hell of it). The Russian always seemed so happy and was always ready to congratulate him, whereas Alfred would begrudgingly tell him it was an alright match. You did pretty good, Mattie, but I'll smash you next time.

Even so...

Matthew sighed and decided to open the letter. What was the worst that could happen, anyway? He was always looking to see the good in everybody, and Ivan seemed to have lots of good inside of him, but there was still that feeling Matthew got whenever he saw him.

His fingers began to shake as he made a small tear at the corner of the envelope, feeling frustrated that he couldn't just get straight to it. His brother would have scowled and ripped the letter open, skimmed through its contents and then thrown it away. He wasn't scared of Ivan, so Matthew decided he shouldn't be either.

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Kumajiro was so hungry. He would normally get his own food if his companion forgot to feed him (which didn't happen often, but often enough), but tonight he just didn't feel like it. Maybe it was because of the gloomy feeling in the house.

Kumajiro didn't always remember who Matthew Williams was, but he was a bear, an animal, and he had instincts. He could feel when something was wrong. If Matthew was tense, Kumajiro was tense. If he was angry or upset, the bear could sense and taste the heavy bitterness in the atmosphere.

Tonight he noticed the blond was upset, but it wasn't unusual behaviour for that time of year. Matthew often mentioned a birthday, but he couldn't understand what was so distressing about that. Nobody remembered Kumajiro's birthday (they probably didn't really know, but that was almost the same as forgetting) and he didn't mind. Parties seemed like tedious occasions and what would his companion gain from having a party anyway?

He stalked down the hallway towards Matthew's room and wondered whether he'd be able to convince him that he should feed him. Kumajiro guessed that the Canadian hadn't eaten anything either.

When he reached the room, he pushed the door open with his paws and was about to ask who it was sitting up in there in the bed (Matthew didn't look like that, he was sure of it) but he thought better of it. The person was holding a letter in their hands, the paper scrunched up slightly from the tight grip. They were trembling, their eyes were swimming with confusion, their face was flushed.

Something inside the bear clicked and he recognised the person as Matthew and he was disturbingly distressed about something. Kumajiro jumped up onto the bed and tried to see what the letter said but it was written in small, rough cursive so he was unable to decipher the message on the paper.

"What?"

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With each word he read, Matthew's heart started to beat harder, faster. Nobody had ever written anything like it to him before, not something so beautiful and at the same time so cruel at least. The words were full of cold honesty that chilled Matthew to the core and had him shaking as if the words were caressing his skin with their icy insinuation.

The blond could hear Ivan's voice in his head, that strange dissonance of the dark childish lilt bleeding into his heavy accent.

He was immediately torn between distancing himself from the letter as soon as humanly possible and surrendering. It had to be some sort of practical joke. Alfred could have easily put it together himself, but a small niggling voice in the very back of his mind said that the American couldn't have come up with something so poetic and so moving. And why would he bother to sit down, think up such a message, find a Russian postage stamp and send it to him when he couldn't even be bothered to call him once in a while?

Matthew swallowed, trying to suppress his building anger at the thought of Alfred doing such a thing. He jumped slightly at the sudden appearance of Kumajiro, which sent a new shock of adrenaline through his system, causing his heart beat to become more rapid than before. He dared himself to re-read the letter, just for another thrill, just for another dose of that strange emotion that curled its way around his heart, through his bloodstream and settled in the pit of his stomach. He felt it all again, just as if he was reading it again for the first time, and he was beginning to wonder what the hell was wrong with him. He could usually keep himself in check, could sort himself out efficiently and remain focused and normal but he was allowing the letter to shake him up and he couldn't calm down.

There was the shadow of some lettering on the back of the page that Matthew hadn't noticed before, and when he turned it over to read the message, he sincerely wished he hadn't.

_I will be waiting for you at the Ottawa Station on the last day of June._

_До скорой встречи, любовь моя._

Matthew had a choice before and now he didn't. He could have either taken the letter as a sensitive, personal confession or something of that nature that he could have responded to with a letter of his own, or he could have acted upon it and gone to Ivan. Being shy and rather unsure and awkward in his own skin, he would have replied via letter (though he hadn't a clue as to what he would have said), but now...now he had to act upon it and go to Ivan.

And he had to be fast.

Matthew had kept him waiting. What if he was still there? What if he wasn't there at all? The Canadian briefly wondered, as he was pulling on his coat and his boots, what Alfred would do, and chastised himself harshly for it. Alfred would have ignored it altogether. Matthew wasn't Alfred, and he wasn't going to make Ivan wait for him any longer - he could have come back for all he knew. Matthew wasn't Alfred, and he wasn't going to leave the Russian's sentiments out in the cold. He wanted to acknowledge that Ivan had scared him but he had made him feel something – he had given him something. He had given him some hope, cold fear, a shard of happiness, a heartbeat.

He drove as fast as he could to the station, barely concentrating on the road in front of him. It usually took him thirty minutes from his house but this time it took him eighteen - it was a wonder he didn't have an accident. Once he reached the station, he felt ill with anxiety. What was he even doing? It had to be at least two in the morning and he was there, ready to meet somebody who might not even be there. And what if he was? Would he be angry? Would he be upset?

Why would he even waste his time waiting for so long in the same place for him, of all people?

Matthew took a few deep, shuddering breaths and leant forward on the steering wheel. What am I doing? Despite his uncertainty, he climbed out of his car, put his card through and walked out onto the platform. He wandered around for a while, trying to look as casual as possible, as though he knew what he was doing, as though he did this kind of thing all the time.

What am I doing?

An hour had passed and there was still no sign of Ivan. Matthew wondered why he was wearing his coat and boots – it was way too hot outside, even at three in the morning.

But it was always cold in Russia, wasn't it?

The Canadian slumped down on a bench, buried his face in his hands and started to cry.

He felt in danger, he felt unsure, he felt lost in his own city. He wanted Francis and Arthur there to tell him that it was alright; that he just needed to go home and rest and when he woke up everything would be better. But they were probably too busy tending to Alfred, making sure he had another amazing birthday. He had always been their favourite, after all.

Matthew realised that it had to be a cruel joke. Somebody was probably hiding somewhere nearby, laughing their arse off at his stupidity. He wiped his eyes and stood up, ready to go back home and tear the letter to shreds so he could forget about it, pretend he'd never read it or had been affected by it.

A train pulled in and the passengers filed out, faces tired and drawn. Matthew lost himself in the crowd, surrounding himself, remaining quietly angry and hurt. He listened to the stories people had to tell about their trip, shared experiences with their loved ones, remembered that hilarious thing that someone had done whilst they were down at the beach. And even though they were fatigued from the trip, they laughed wholeheartedly. Matthew wished he had something to laugh wholeheartedly about even though he was tired and drawn and fatigued.

When he was back inside the cramped warmth of his car, he slammed his hands down on the steering wheel, not bothering to hold back the new onslaught of tears that stung his throat.

And that's when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Matthew almost screamed but it was as if his voice had escaped him due to the shock. He whipped his head around to see Ivan sitting in the passenger seat of his car, his violet eyes watching him in a way that made him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"H-How did you get in?"

The Russian chuckled and leaned in closer, running his thumb across Matthew's cheek to wipe away a tear. "This door was unlocked, you see." He opened and closed the door. "I thought these vehicles had automatic locking?"

Matthew shuddered under his touch; his skin was unbelievably warm. "It's an old car," he murmured, cursing himself for leaving his car unlocked. Where had his common sense run off to? He put his hands in his lap and clasped them together tightly until his knuckles went a paler shade of white. Ivan's hand tangled itself almost comfortingly into his hair, seeming to beckon him to look at him.

"I was watching you for a while but I thought you needed some time to make yourself feel better, so I came here to wait for you, but you aren't feeling better are you?" he didn't give Matthew time to answer. "Did my letter make you sad?"

The blond shook his head slowly. It hadn't...but now he wasn't so sure of what it made him feel. All he could think about was the fact that Ivan Braginski was in his car, touching his hair, watching him closely, his own heart beating at one hundred miles an hour.

"Have you thought about what I have asked of you?"

"I..." Matthew swallowed and worried at his bottom lip. He wasn't sure he knew the answer.

"How about we go home and you can think about it then." It wasn't a question. His voice was soft but there was a note of demand to it. Matthew assumed Ivan meant his home (that was only logical), and he wondered why that thought alone made him so uncomfortable.

He started the engine and adjusted his mirrors and his seat, anything to keep his mind off what was happening right at that moment.

Calm down, just calm down. You're just taking him back to your place. Everything will be fine...

"Happy Birthday, Matthew," Ivan said quietly, though despite this Matthew could hear the smile in his voice.

He could feel the 'thank you' warm and unsure on his tongue, but his mouth remained closed, unable to form the words. All he could do was nod, try to focus on the traffic, try to remember how to breathe.

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**End Notes: **

**До скорой встречи, любовь моя.**** - see you soon, my love ( thanks RusCSI :D )**

**I was worried about this 'cause I'm not sure if I made Matthew too...emotional? But there's a method to my madness, which (hopefully) will become clearer as the story progresses. Criticism is always welcome, though. If Matthew is OOC I would like to know. **

**Thank you all again for your kind encouragement :D I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
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	3. Pulse

**AN: alright so, here's chapter three! ok, so, you know how I told you that it all started last chapter - well, not really. Here's where I think it starts to unfold. I wanted this to be different but it's just...ugh, it didn't come out how I wanted it but I'm quite satisfied. **

**I'll just say - start to heed the warnings, guys. You may need to remind yourself that this is going to be, well, a darkfic but not really but sort of? for me, it's going to be dark, but you may have read darker but we'll see. It's early days still, so I may not need to warn you just yet, but just a little for the ending. and that's where I'll stop for now because I don't want to give anything else away and I really want to stop babbling so on with the reading and the Russia and Canada goodness.  
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**I do not own Hetalia**

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**Pulse**

"I'll...I'll just get my things. Just wait here," Matthew murmured, indicating to his old worn chair by the fireplace.

He'd had it since the early 1900's, and it still smelled faintly of Francis' cologne and Arthur's tobacco smoke (even though he'd sworn that he never touched the stuff in his life. Matthew and Alfred had found a collection of old pipes in his attic once). Whenever he was feeling upset or angry, he would sit, sometimes for hours on end, in that chair and the familiar scents would soothe him, make everything seem so much better. He never let anyone else sit in that chair, except for perhaps Arthur and Francis themselves, but now it didn't matter. They didn't really care so why should he?  
"Take your time," Ivan said, making himself comfortable, running his hands along the arm rests, smiling in approval. Matthew felt a twinge in his chest but he clenched his jaw and willed himself to ignore it.

He climbed the stairs to his bedroom, all the while feeling as though his legs had gone to mush and his feet weighed a ton each, whilst his mind was weightless altogether.

When he reached his room, he noticed that the top drawer of his bedside table hadn't been closed properly. The Canadian rushed over, hoping that none of his valuables had been stolen. (He couldn't remember if he'd even locked his front door.) His heart plummeted immediately when he saw his most treasured photographs weren't there.

"Oh maple," he hissed under his breath as he opened and closed the remaining drawers. His frantic search ended shortly when he caught sight of something reflective in his peripherals. His photos were scattered on his bed, along with Ivan's letter and some tell-tale white hairs.

Kumajiro...

What was Kumajiro doing looking at his photographs? Matthew doubted that the bear knew who the people were in them anyway...  
The blond traced his fingers gently over the top of the images, careful not to leave a mark.

There he was, no older than probably fifteen-human-years, taking a pipe from Francis, who had a wide smirk on his face. That was probably because of Arthur, who was only just there in the background, pointing an accusatory finger in the Frenchman's direction, eyebrows knit furiously together, mouth open in exclamation.

Matthew chuckled to himself and sat down, the mattress groaning softly in a familiar, comforting way. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to forget Ivan downstairs and his own anxiety.

There was his favourite photo of Alfred and himself, taken just after the Great War. Tired and weary, but there was still the brightness of victory dancing in both pairs of eyes. Alfred was wearing that hat that Arthur hated (that's probably why his southern neighbour loved it so much) and the tie that Matthew bought for him for his birthday, the same year the war ended. Alfred said he hated ties but Matthew knew that sometimes he didn't feel he was good enough to dress up like everybody else.

There were more of Francis and himself, Francis and Arthur, Arthur and Alfred, and despite them having a slightly shaky relationship, there was one of Arthur and himself. The Canadian was signing something and Arthur was watching over his shoulder, all the pride Matthew could have hoped to see was there, shining in his eyes.

All of the memories captured within each photograph were beautiful; something Matthew wouldn't dare trade for anything else in the whole world.  
He picked up Ivan's letter and read through it again, suddenly feeling a bitter uneasiness settle within him. He was willing to give everything he had to the Russian, to forget everything that the photos reminded him of (what he had, who he loved the most).

Good sense had obviously abandoned him completely.

In all honesty, he'd already made his decision. Even when he was convinced that he didn't have a clue as to what he was going to do, he knew the exact decision he would make. Because he had realised, even before he was certain, that if he refused to go with Ivan, he would be aching with the desire to know what it could have been like living with him. He knew that if he accepted, he would have the attention he always wanted and he could leave everything else behind. The people who forgot him, who ignored him, who underestimated him. Everyone, everything.

But...

They never meant to forget him, did they? They had shown their gratitude when it was due, so he couldn't claim that he was ignored all the time. He just wanted to know what it was like to really be noticed. He wanted to know what it was like to be Kiku whenever Vash was quick to reprimand him for not sharing his own thoughts and opinions at World Conferences. The Swiss man must have been thinking about Kiku even before it came time for others to push their ideas forward, otherwise how else would he know when the other was going to speak? How else would he know what the Japanese man was going to say even before Kiku himself knew what he was going to say?

Matthew wanted somebody (other than Francis or Alfred or Arthur) to be able to read him like that, to know the real him. He wanted it so much that he thought, just by reading one letter, that he would be able to get it if he surrendered to Ivan Braginski.

_Become one with Russia._

No, no, no, no! _Fucking maple_! What the hell had he been thinking? So what if everyone forgot his birthday, didn't notice his presence? He was quiet anyway...but that didn't mean that he'd let himself be manipulated by some letter. Yes, Ivan understood him, he was one of the few that could, but that wasn't enough reason to give up his name and everything that it stood for.

With his heart racing so fast he thought it might burst, Matthew ripped up the letter and tucked the pieces beneath his mattress. Next, he went over to his wardrobe, opened the doors and pushed his shoes aside so he could get to the carpet edge of the carpet lining at the base of the wall. He gripped at where the fabric had started to fray and pulled back has hard as he could until the carpet came away from the concrete beneath. He tucked the photos underneath there and placed the carpet back down with a pair of his heaviest boots on top.

Matthew knew he had to leave. And leave quickly.

I can wait, the blond told himself as he crept down the stairs as quietly as he could manage. I can wait – everyone might remember and they'll call me later on. It could – _it will _– be different this year.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he held his breath and peered into the room where he'd left Ivan. He almost cried out when he saw that the fireplace had been lit (he always kept fresh logs in there just in case the weather changed unexpectedly – _fuck_) and his chair had been pushed into it. The chair had also been slashed multiple times; the old, well-loved fabric marred beyond repair. Matthew ran over to the burning heap and started to pull at it, praying with all his heart that it could be salvaged somehow, but he knew it would be hopeless. Even if he managed to stop the burning, he couldn't undo the damage that had been done already.

"What are you doing, _немного кленового листа_?"

Matthew jumped and turned abruptly at the sound of that voice. He couldn't hold back the violent shudder as he stepped away from the chair and backed away a few steps.

"What did you do?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, gravelly with anger and fear.

Ivan simply smiled and brought his hand out from behind his back. In his grasp was that faucet, rusted slightly by water and dry blood. The furious orange flames were reflected in those violet orbs, the glow from the fire softening his features. This only struck fear further into Matthew's heart.

"Come now, Matthew. Where are your belongings?" the Russian's voice was measured, gentle, as though he was speaking to a small child.

"I-I didn't pack anything. I'm not going with you." Matthew pushed his shoulders back slightly, despite the fact he didn't feel brave at all.

Ivan's mouth quirked into a wide, unfriendly smile. "Of course you are, маленькая Канада. You will become one with Russia."

The Canadian shook his head, his lower lip trembling. His skin felt as though it was on fire, and he realised that if he didn't move soon, he would be trapped by the fire, and Matthew Williams refused to be burned to death.

"No. I won't – I refuse."

Ivan's knuckles paled as he gripped the faucet tighter, taking one painfully slow step towards Matthew. The small blond looked past the other briefly, noting that there was only a narrow gap for him to escape. His head was screaming at him to go, now, now, now! but his body was frozen by Ivan's stare, challenging him to move, to refuse him again.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, _Matvey_, but see, you don't have a choice."

"I really think I do," Matthew said before darting past Ivan, narrowly missing being hit by his faucet. He raced down the hall, his target being the back door at the end. Fleetingly, he wondered where Kumajiro was but he figured the bear would have the good sense to run – he had a better sense of danger than Matthew did, anyway.

"I only want to take care of you, маленькая Канада."

The Canadian looked over his shoulder as he battled with the key in the lock. He was coming towards him slowly, taking calm, even steps. He was holding the metal pipe in both his hands, smile unwavering. Matthew whimpered slightly, trying his hardest not to break down and give up. He had set fire to the White House, had he not, all those years ago? He'd relished in the thrill, so he would not allow his heart to grow weak and weary now.

Once he heard that little click, he twisted the doorknob hard and pushed against the door, his pursuer barely ten feet behind him. He raced through his garden and headed for his shed. The lights from his house helped him see a little, but it was still difficult. His legs just didn't work as fast as he needed them to, his heart wouldn't still for just one freaking moment to let him _breathe_. He could hear Ivan open the door, close it, call out his name. Swearing under his breath, he hid behind the shed and looked around frantically to see what he could use to buy himself some more time. When he laid his eyes upon the axe he used to chop firewood, it felt as though his heart leapt into his throat. He hoped, as he lifted the axe, that it would be enough. His stomach twisted sickeningly when he realised that it might not be.

It took all of his courage to come out from his hiding place, courage that he was amazed that he had. The Russian was standing just a few feet from the shed, expression unchanged. Though it was a lot more disconcerting that Matthew could only just see the small glint of the moon's reflection in those dark eyes.

"P-please," Matthew began, running his tongue along his bottom lip, worrying at it. He pointed the blade towards Ivan, warning him, begging him to stay where he was. "What do you want?"

Ivan sighed, lowering his faucet a little. "I want you to make me happy."

Matthew swallowed, exhaling slowly. "I can do that, I can try. I j-just can't become one with you. Do you understand?"

"But you can't make me happy if you do not become one, маленький клен. And I cannot make you happy when you're away from me."

"N-now you and I both know that's not true." Matthew took a few discreet side-steps to the right, Ivan following his every move. If he ran, he knew he would be chased until he could run no more. What am I going to do? Somebody tell me what to do! "We can make the effort t-to call one another, can't we? But please...I want things to remain as they are. I-I'm fine, I really am."

"You wouldn't be invisible if you were to become one with me, Matthew. You wouldn't be lonely or sad and we would be all the other needs, da?"

Matthew only just caught the twitch, the falter in his facade. His grip on the axe handle tightened, he could feel splinters penetrating his skin. Why had he been so stupid? Why was his head all over the place? Just because he'd been upset...it wasn't like him. Perhaps something had snapped, after years of forgotten birthdays and being jealous of Alfred ad his popularity...but whatever it had been, it had shifted back again.

"I'm sorry you came all this way a-and I'm sorry I made you think that I would go quietly but I just can't do that."

And that's when he dropped the axe and ran.

* * *

Ivan Braginski loved playing with other nations. He liked to watch their chests heaving as they struggled for breath – he knew just beyond their ribs their little hearts would be pounding relentlessly, veins and arteries bulging and pulsing as blood surged through them as they fought for more oxygen. He liked the way their eyeballs spasm and ticked inside their sockets in terror.

But he also liked the love and trust of nations. He wanted to have what Alfred had with Arthur, a Special Relationship, one that would be recognisable to everybody.

Matthew Williams was like a glass key. Extremely useful, but delicate and beautiful. He knew if he held him too tightly in the palm of his hand he would shatter and that would be it – he'd be of no use. If Ivan could have the Canadian become one with him, then surely his little family would come along, too. What choice would they have? If he was part of Russia, then they would have to start a war with Russia. Of course, the Allies had won each World War, but not without heavy losses.

Yes – they would have no choice but to succumb to his wishes if they were to see their little maple leaf ever again.

But Ivan wasn't completely without a heart. There had been truth within the letter he'd so carefully composed. At times, the Russian would misplace his presence, but he wouldn't forget he was there. He was forever seeking the approval of every nation – they could nod their heads and agree with him, but that didn't mean they approved of him. Matthew's smile was like a field of sunflowers, but he knew just a photograph of it wouldn't be enough. He needed to be able to see his lips curve upwards, he needed to see it die, usurped, smothered by another emotion.  
Ivan had been disappointed to begin with. He thought that Matthew wouldn't come to the station and greet him at all. He thought he may have just disregarded his letter – but Matthew wasn't Alfred.

He did like that Matthew fought back, but it irritated him just a little that he wasn't giving in so easily. His spirit had wings that needed to be clipped, it seemed. So when the Canadian dropped the axe and ran, Ivan chased him. He was a lot faster than most gave him credit for, despite General Winter's chill being carved into his bones, making him weary most days.

He eventually caught Matthew and forced him to the ground.

"Get off me!" the small blond struggled beneath him, clawing at the ground.

Ivan couldn't help but giggle. He really didn't want to have to harm Matthew, but it seemed as though he had no choice. He sat up slightly and brought his faucet up over his head before bringing it down again.

And again.

And again.

Hard. Very hard.

He was about to strike again when somewhere deep within him, whether it was in his subconscious or in his ice-cold heart, a little voice screamed at him.

_If you don't stop he'll die._

Ivan promptly dropped the pipe and rolled the body beneath him over. He pressed his ear to his chest and concentrated, listening, listening...

Ah, there it was. A heartbeat. A slow, shuddering heartbeat.

The Russian sat up again and wiped the tears from the other's fair eyelashes before resting his faucet on top of his body and scooping him up into his arms. He barely gave Matthew's broken glasses laying in the grass a second glance – now that he was going to become one with Russia, he wouldn't have the need for them; Ivan would be his eyes and he would only see what Ivan wanted and needed him to see.

Ivan giggled to himself again. There was still so much more that needed to be done so that everything flowed smoothly, so everything went according to his carefully thought out plans. It was just as well that he had time enough on his hands – It was going to be a long journey home to Moscow.

* * *

**End Notes:**

**I'm so sorry Matthew ;_; but I really wanted a loveable!psycho!Ivan. And I love you all for the previous feedback. I really do; you have no idea... :D and I just thought of something I had to add but then I forgot D: **

**Just some translations (if they're wrong I'm extremely sorry):  
**

**немного кленового листа - little maple leaf**

**маленькая Канада - little/small Canada**

**маленький клен - little/small maple**

**Oh yeah! If this seems a little bit...full-on and like everything's happening so fast, it's because I intended it to be that way. I was like, "what would I do if I was in Mattie's sitch?" and I thought, "I'd probably freak out". But I didn't want him to freak out big time, you know?**

**I knew you would ;D  
**

**PLEASE. If there are any errors you find just tell me "look you illiterate moron, FIX THIS" and I will do it. Thank you! :D**


	4. Fraying

**A/N: So here it is: Chapter 4. I had so much fun writing this one. Too much fun, in fact. **

**To be perfectly honest, I had no idea where this was going to go but then yesterday I had a surge of inspiration and wrote down the entire plot for this and I'm really, really happy with it. It's going to be about 15/16 chapters long, possibly more if I want to space things out. I was excited and I hope you guys get excited too! **

**I almost forgot - I was supposed to say thank you to Artificial Starlight last chapter for helping me clear some things up, so here is a belated thank you-shout out for you. Thank you - even though we didn't really communicate too much, the little that was said gave me some direction.**

**EDIT: I fixed up the crappy formatting and changed the Netherland's name to Hannes. Canaderp pointed out that Lars wasn't strictly Dutch and I have to agree one hundred percent. I wasn't happy with it either, to be honest, and to redeem this I picked a much better name. Now I feel more confident and happier. I hope everyone else likes the change, too!  
**

**Enjoy~  
**

**...**

**I do not own Hetalia or David Gray's _First Chance_  
**

**...  
**

* * *

_As the fabric comes unstitched _  
_Hearts and minds and eyes bewitched_  
_Stand and watchin' for the smoke to clear.._  
_First chance I get, I'm gone..

* * *

_

**Fraying**

_"O Canada, we stand on guard for thee..." Ivan sang to himself in a soft murmur, his gaze following the black scorch marks that had spread across the walls and trailed up to stain the ceiling. He took a deep calm breath, his nostrils and the back of his throat burned as the smoky oxygen travelled down into his lungs, giggling as he let it back out again. The firemen had been very kind and understanding._

_"He was just upset, you see. I tried to stop him, 'you don't want to burn that chair,' I said, but he just wouldn't listen to me. I'm grateful that you were able to arrive just in time." The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in excitement as he lied to them. He had told them not to worry; Matthew would be fine and Ivan would take care of him until the repairs were done. "He will be in safe hands."_

_Very safe hands. _

_Once the firemen had left the house and had driven away, the Russian made his way upstairs to Matthew's bedroom, where the Canadian was resting so peacefully on his bed. Ivan watched the slow rise and fall of his chest for a moment before laying his eyes upon the golden blond hair, discoloured and matted with dried coppery blood. A sigh passed his lips as he stroked the younger nation's pale cheek. "It didn't have to come to this," he said softly. "If you had come quietly, we would be in Moscow right now. If you had come quietly..." he leant down and pressed his face against Matthew's exposed neck, his lips grazing roughly against his pulse as if his words would sink through the Canadian's skin and into his veins "...I wouldn't have had to hurt you."_

_And he hadn't planned on letting any unnecessary harm befall on Matthew, and he was genuinely disappointed that not only had he allowed himself to act on impulse, but he had probably lost all of Matthew's trust as well. Ivan knew he would have to earn his precious trust again before he could make the blond become one with him completely. But that wouldn't be difficult, not at all. Especially if he could make him see that he couldn't trust anybody else around him. And when that happened, when he had nobody else to turn to, Ivan would be there. Matthew would be so fed up and so broken that he wouldn't be able to help but fall into Ivan's open arms. _

_The Russian smiled to himself and got up off the bed, casting one last longing look on Matthew's face before walking over to the window to keep watch – he didn't want to be caught off guard just in case somebody wanted to pay Matthew an unexpected early-morning visit. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear helicopter blades beating against the new July air, whirring to the rhythm of the rising sun.

* * *

_

**July 5, 3:17 AM – Washington D.C.**

Arthur allowed himself to be pulled down on top of a very a drunk Alfred.

"Tally ho!" the American exclaimed at the top of his lungs as they went down, and threw himself into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Alfred obviously found his own ridiculously bad British accent so hilarious that he couldn't contain himself any longer. Arthur scowled and rolled off onto his back. Had he been drunk he may have laughed along, too, but he had promised that he wouldn't get completely plastered this year for Alfred's birthday. It wasn't just because he didn't want to make a complete tosser out of himself or act like a wanker towards Alfred (which always happened when he had one or twenty too many nips of scotch or whisky) on his birthday, either. No – in the past, Arthur would drink himself to near oblivion on July 4 because he hadn't been able to accept what the day truly meant. He hadn't _wanted_ to accept what the day truly meant, not for a long time. But he was so proud of Alfred, so proud of everything he had done (well, almost everything; he had done despicable things in the past, but so had he as an Empire) and everything he'd achieved, and none of it would have happened had he remained tucked underneath Arthur's arm or shielded behind his back. And even though he was his own strong, independent nation, Arthur could still call Alfred his. His ex-colony, his trading partner, his ally. _His._

"Hey...you asleep old man?" Alfred asked with a slight slur after he'd calmed down.

"Do you think I'd be able to fall asleep after all of your fuss?" Arthur turned his head to see the American watching the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world – he probably hadn't even heard a word Arthur said. Alfred's mouth curved upwards in a subtle smirk.

"I thought your bed time was at like, seven-thirty or something." He chuckled, but refrained from elapsing into another round of giggles.

"Oh ha ha, really bloody funny Alfred." Arthur muttered and focused his attention on the ceiling. He had actually passed the point of being tired four hours ago.

A comfortable silence settled between the two as they stared upwards. Arthur wondered whether Alfred had fallen asleep after ten minutes had passed, and was about to turn over to wake him up so he could get into bed properly before a sob broke through the silence.

"Alfred? Are you alright?"

For some reason unbeknownst to Arthur, this caused Alfred to let out a particularly pained wail. "No! I'm not alright!"

Arthur rolled over and put his hand on Alfred's shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. It was probably still the alcohol in his system...

"What's the matter?" Alfred continued to sob for a few moments until he turned to Arthur and clung desperately to his sleeve. Arthur wondered what had him so distressed. He took his face into his hands and stroked his cheeks with his thumbs soothingly. "Tell me all about it."

"I'm old! Do you know how old I am? Three hundred! Three HUNDRED! I'm not young anymore!"

"Is that all?" Arthur scowled incredulously and a little offended that Alfred thought three hundred was old – Arthur could still remember himself at three hundred (although he wished he could remember himself less at three hundred). The American was still practically a baby, for heaven's sake.

"Oh, Alfred."

"'Oh, Alfred?' Oh, Arthur more like! Dude, don't you realise how much this sucks major balls?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore how Alfred used his wonderful, wholesome language to express such a crude phrase. "It's nothing to get upset over, lad. You do know how old I am, don't you?" Alfred hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. Arthur sighed – of course he didn't. "I'm not depressed or embarrassed about it. Think of all the experiences you'll have in the future. And what about all of the things you've seen happen in the past three hundred years? If you were just a human, you would have only experienced seventy or eighty year's worth of it. You also would have had wrinkles and no teeth if you were human and eighty, Alfred. But look at you – three hundred and you look as though you were still one hundred. _Young_ and handsome, just like Clark Kent."

"Superman is such an awesome hero." The American's tears had stopped and he was reduced to just a few small sniffles now and again. "Hey, Artie...am I your Superman?"

"Sod off," Arthur scowled affectionately.

For the second time that morning a comfortable silence settled between them until it was broken by Alfred. This time he let out a sigh, but it wasn't just a settling-down sort of dreamy sigh, no. Alfred was still troubled by something.

"Hey Arthur, did you see Mattie anywhere?"

Arthur couldn't remember seeing him. "I don't think he made an appearance." He didn't mention the purple elves he saw earlier on in the night getting up to mischief – they may have had something to do with it but Alfred wouldn't be willing to listen to it.

Alfred exhaled again. "It's all my fault. I forgot to call him on his birthday and he's probably mad at me for it. I mean it wasn't like I didn't know it was his birthday or anything like that, and it's not like he's not used to me not calling him on his birthday every year or anything. I don't know – maybe he's got some stuff going on or something."

"I'm inclined to think that nobody remembers the poor boy's birthday, though I suppose he doesn't make quite as much fuss as you do about yours. But if he didn't keep disappearing all the time..." Arthur knew that wasn't a good enough excuse. "I propose that we need to start looking out for him a lot more and start acting like a family. Including that bloody frog bastard, too. God only knows how Matthew hasn't turned out like him yet."

"Yeah. I just hope he's alright."

"He's fine, I'm sure. I'll give him a quick call when I go back home in a few days to see how he—" Arthur was cut off by a loud, unceremonious snore. He shook his head tiredly and leant over to plant a gentle kiss on Alfred's forehead, telling him softly that he was a big old git.

* * *

**July 6, 11:31 AM – Moscow  
**

Ivan drew the curtains to let the summer Russian sun stream through the windows and into the room to illuminate the bed where Matthew rested, clean and without any visible signs of injury. It had been six days since they had arrived back in Moscow, six days since Matthew had last been conscious. Ivan had managed to rouse him enough once they were in the helicopter to get him to take a few high-strength sleeping tablets and aspirin so the trip would be quick and painless for him, but he never came to again. Perhaps he had given him too many?

"I need you to wake up for me, _Matvey_." Ivan sat on the edge of the bed beside the Canadian and placed his hand gently over Matthew's smaller one. Worry was starting to eat away at the edges of his heart - this was not what was supposed to be happening; Matthew was supposed to be awake and living happily as part of Russia. As part of him. He trailed his hand up slowly from Matthew's hand, fingers brushing against his forearm, until he reached his chest where he could feel the slow but steady beat of his heart beneath his palm. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long before Matthew would wake up and thank him for taking him away from his loneliness. Ivan had been alone for far too long and he knew that they would be good for one another. Matthew had never judged him for everything he had done in the past, and he never looked back on his history with disdain like the rest of his fellow nations. His so-called "family". No, Matthew wasn't like the rest of them. He was special, and hopefully it wouldn't be too long before the rest of the world realised that dearest Matthew was too special to them to ignore him or his absence anymore. And then once they realised that their dearest Matthew was happy being one with Russia and was never going to leave him, they would have no choice but to join him. It pained Ivan to know that they didn't care for him as much as they cared for Matthew, but it was a passing feeling, one that would be nonexistent once they were under his control.

Ivan couldn't help but smile at the thought.

Beneath his palm, he felt Matthew's heart beat change pace and he quickly turned his attention to his face to see his eyes flutter open. Ivan had forgotten how vivid they were in colour. So blue that they took on a subtle violet hue.

"...Ivan?"

"Good morning, Matthew."

The Canadian looked up at Ivan, his head tilted to the side slightly in confusion. "Why are you here?" He asked warily, sitting up slowly and moving away from the Russian's hand.

"'Here'? I live here."

Matthew looked down at the blankets covering him and then around the room, his eyes widening as he took everything in. "Why am I here?" **  
**

Ivan's own eyes widened slightly and the corners of his mouth were twitching upwards, urging him to grin. Did he not remember? "Don't you remember your birthday, _Matvey_?" he asked quietly, forcing himself to be solemn.

Matthew looked worried. "Of course I remember my birthday. It's everybody else who forgets it," he said testily. "I came home and-your letter. You sent me a letter for my birthday, I remember that."

"What else?" Ivan leant in a little closer. "Do you remember what my letter was about?"

"Faintly...but I can't remember what happened after that. Why? Why do you care? T-tell me what's going on." Matthew's stern voice wavered slightly.

Ivan wanted to express his excitement and clasp his hands together and claim his victory but he refrained and instead looked down at his hand that had fallen onto the space beside Matthew's thigh. He worried at his lip slightly and offered his little maple leaf a saddened sort of smile.  
"You called me about the letter, and you asked me why I wrote it. Do you remember what I told you?" Matthew shook his head slowly, his face paling a little. "I wrote you the letter because I wanted to let you know that you're not the only one who feels this way."

"And what are we supposed to be feeling?" Matthew asked skeptically. Ivan had to keep himself from letting his thrill work its way into his words.

"We feel underappreciated, you and I. We give to others but we get little in return. I can understand why you were so upset, _Matvey_."

Something flashed in the blond's eyes and Ivan knew he'd struck a nerve within him. He had spirit and fight and he wasn't willing to let others see him weakened for very long. "So how did I end up here with you? And what day is it? It can't still be my birthday."

"It is July 6."

"_Maple_. July 6? What did you do to me?"

Ivan looked into Matthew's eyes and tried his best to let him know that his words stung him more than they actually did. "I did nothing to you, I promise you," he said evenly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You were very worn out, so I let you sleep."

"A-alright, but please answer me. Why am I here? How did I get here?" He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them, tangling his fingers into his hair.

"Shh, it will be alright. You wanted to get away for a while and forget about those who don't care for you. I didn't want to separate you from your people or your home, but you were inconsolable. Do not be embarrassed, I didn't mind and I still don't. I want to be able to make you happy again." Ivan rubbed Matthew's back in small circles before moving closer to put his arm around him. When Matthew didn't move away, he placed a small kiss to his temple. "We can make one another happy again. That will be nice, yes?"

"My head hurts," the Canadian murmured. "I feel like I'm going to be sick."

Ivan sighed and got to his feet to look for a bucket or something. He spotted a garish vase in the corner of the room that looked suspiciously like a gift he'd received from Yao in the 1920's. Oh well, at least it was getting used for something – he'd never put his precious sunflowers in there.

"I'll be all you need for now, _Matvey_ my darling," the Russian cooed comfortingly as Matthew gripped the vase and retched into it. He gently held his hair back for him and nuzzled into his shoulder. "Don't think about them anymore."

Ivan couldn't have asked for things to be more perfect. Given time, Matthew would remember, but whilst he was still in shock and couldn't remember, it would be easy to make Matthew believe he was alone and Ivan was the only one he could turn to. It would be easy to have Matthew trust him again.

* * *

**July 6, 9:59 AM – Amsterdam **

"So Hannes~ when do we get to visit Italy?"

"We don't," Hannes grunted into his scarf, which conveniently hid his teasing smirk. Why did it have to be so fucking cold? He looked down at his little sister from the corner of his eye to see the Belgian pout.

"Asshole. I'm going to push you off this pier one day."

"Sofie," Hannes scolded and punched her lightly on the arm, and in return Sofie punched him harder. "This is why we're not going to visit Italy any time soon. Your language gets cruder every time – that bastard Lovino is a bad influence on you. Dutch isn't a language you want to be demeaning by using it to swear now is it?"

"Are you sure it's not you who's the bad influence on me? Your swearing is worse than his!"

"I'm allowed to swear – I'm your older brother. I'm older and wiser than he is."

Sofie scoffed. "You are not older than he is."

"Whatever," Hannes growled. "He's gay anyway, didn't you know? Every nation is gay."

"Even you?" The blonde poked her tongue out at her older brother, giggling.

"Yes, even me. But I like to think of it as, er, establishing alliances." Hannes shoved his hands deep into his pockets, surprised to find a piece of paper inside the left one. He pulled it out and remembered it was a letter he'd received from Matthew Williams and was meaning to read it later.

"Ooh, Hannes has a letter?" Sofie pulled at his arm to try and read what it said. "Is it a _love_ letter?"

"No, Sofie, it's a political letter." Hannes pulled his arm away and waved his hand in the direction of an old swing set by a boat shed. "Look, go amuse yourself for a bit."

"What am I, five?" she huffed.

"Yes."

"Ugh! Fine, but you'll have to push me." Hannes rolled his eyes and was about to protest but the Belgian had already run off towards the swings. He supposed he would take the opportunity to read Matthew's letter whilst Sofie was distracted.

_Hannes Kalle, my good friend,_

_This is something that isn't easy for me to tell you, but after a long discussion with my boss we came to an agreement that we no longer wish to have your assistance in the annual Tulip Festival. The issue of pollen contamination was brought up in the discussion and we do not wish to harm the native species in any way. It would be a shame if we could no longer grow these flowers or hold these festivals which our people love so much. But there's no need to worry – we are more than capable of growing plenty of our own tulips and we would like to have everything native to our region to keep the spirit of the festival strictly Canadian. You are more than welcome to attend every year like you have done in the past, and I look forward to seeing you very soon. _

_Sincerely,_  
_Matthew Williams._

"Ow, Hannes! Don't push so hard – I'm going to get a bruise on my back if you keep going!"

Hannes frowned as he reread the letter, clenching his hand tightly, roughly creasing the paper. So that's what Matthew wanted? To keep a festival that had been, in fact, established because of his government 'strictly Canadian'?

_Fine by him._

He knew it was nothing that should have upset him but...Matthew always loved his tulips. He had even admitted that he liked them better. It was something that they shared between them that nobody else had, and even though Hannes was brash and didn't like to reveal his feelings much to anybody, the festival meant a lot to him, and he always told Matthew that. It was totally worth embarrassing himself to see the Canadian's face turn that attractive pink.

It just didn't seem right. The letter didn't sound like him... it was too formal, too cold.

And what was with the 'pollen contamination' bullshit? That had never been a problem in the past. God, he knew he would end up turning out like his arrogant prick of a brother. He had honestly thought Matthew was better than to let petty national pride get to him like that, but obviously not.  
Well, fine by him.

* * *

_Come and feast your eyes upon the hoax.._

* * *

**End notes:**

**:D~**

**Hannes = Holland/Netherlands. I gave him the last name Kalle (one would pronounce it Kar-lee here in Australia because of our horrible accents :'D. There's a Dutch family in my town and they have cousins in Holland with the last name Kalle except they can actually pronounce it properly.)**

**So I really wanted to have the other characters in there, especially England and America. **

**Now about the tulip festival:**

**The Canadian Tulip Festival claims to be the world's largest tulip festival, with attendance of over 500,000 visitors annually. This major cultural event is held annually in Ottawa and Gatineau, Canada, over the course of 18 days in May, concluding with the Victoria Day long weekend.**

** Although tulips are displayed throughout the city, the most extensive tulip beds are to found in Commissioners Park on the shores of Dow's Lake, and along the Rideau Canal with 300,000 tulips planted there alone.**

**In 1945, the Dutch royal family sent 100,000 tulip bulbs to Ottawa in gratitude for Canadians having sheltered Princess Juliana and her daughters for the preceding three years during the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands, in the Second World War.**

**The most noteworthy event during their time in Canada was the birth in 1943 of Princess Margriet to Princess Juliana at the Ottawa Civic Hospital. The maternity ward was declared to be officially a temporary part of international territory, so that she would be born in no country and would inherit only her Dutch citizenship from her mother. In 1946, Juliana sent another 20,500 bulbs requesting that a display be created for the hospital, and promised to send 10,000 more bulbs each year. (Wikipedia - I know I used Wikipedia but it's pretty concise and easy to digest.)  
**

**So I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it~!**


	5. Trying

**AN: Wow, it's been too long since I've looked at this fic. I only just remembered how much I love it, so I decided to take the time to finish this chapter properly and update this. I'm sorry for the ridiculous wait, but here it is. It's not the longest chapter, but the next one will make up for it, I promise.**

**Now, on with the creepy Russian goodness~**

**...**

**I do not own Hetalia**

**...**

* * *

**Trying**

"Come on, I don't know what you're so upset about, Hannes," Sofie huffed, practically having to run to keep up with her brother. He was such a stubborn pain at times. "Yes, you've had the tradition between you for years but things change. It could just be a joke – you never know." At least, she hoped it was a joke, especially because Matthew seemed really nice and polite and as though he'd have enough manners to deal with issues like this properly.

"You should know by now that we don't write letters to joke, Sofie," Hannes ground out, running his hand roughly through his hair. "Emails and phone calls, yes. Not letters."

"Well what are you going to do? You're not going to just—"

"Shut up, alright? Just be quiet for a minute. I'm gonna go talk to my boss. Go home for now and I'll see you tomorrow." Sofie recoiled at his biting tone and stopped trying to walk beside him. She really wanted to catch up to him and beat him around the head for being such an idiot but decided against it. He seemed really cut up, and it wasn't hard to see why. They'd been good friends for a long time, and whenever Sofie saw them together at the tulip festival (when Hannes wasn't being a jerk and let her tag along with him), she knew exactly what friendship was supposed to look like.

The Belgian stuck her tongue out at Hannes' retreating back and pulled out her phone, tapping out a quick message before going in search for some much needed chocolate.

_You'd better not be going to tell your boss to stop the arrangements for next year, Hannes Kalle! Just think about how much you care about Matthew and for god's sakes, just talk to him about it before doing anything stupid!_

* * *

Everything seemed...well, Matthew wanted to use the word 'surreal' but that just didn't seem to fit. It was more than just surreal – there wasn't even enough right with the situation for it to be just a thought of as strange. With the way his skin was prickling and his heart was pounding with uneasiness, he felt like everything around him was waiting with baited breath for something horrific to happen. So when nothing happened, when all Ivan would do was watch him from the study window with a smile on his face and a little wave of his hand, it made everything ten times worse.

Matthew didn't think Ivan kidnapped him. When he felt well enough to get up and walk around, he showed him around his house and let him go outside. But don't wander off too far, he had said with a small giggle, which made a cold chill ghost down his spine. If the Russian had kidnapped him, then he would have locked him up. That's how the whole kidnapping process went, right? Being locked up with handcuffs and chains and ties with only some bread and water to feed on? But still, he had to wonder...

As he went back inside, he tried to remember what happened on his birthday. He remembered how upset he was, the letter, and he remembered seeing Ivan but...

And then he remembered looking at his photographs and hiding them. And fire, and being scared. That wasn't possible. No, it couldn't have been possible because Ivan would have told him if his house was on fire because that would have been the right thing to do. Matthew clutched at the front of his shirt as an unpleasant feeling settled inside his gut.

"How are you feeling this morning, Matthew? Did you have a nice walk outside?"

"Yes, thank you," Matthew said quietly, pulling at the ends of his sweater sleeves with shaking fingers. "Can I ask you something?"

Ivan stood up and gestured for the Canadian to take his seat. "You don't need to ask." He placed his large hands on Matthew's shoulders once he was seated and started to massage them. "You're very tense. Don't be nervous, _Matvey_. You can always tell me anything."

The blond swallowed and tried to relax under his strong touch. "I keep imagining things. I think it may have been a bad dream o-or something." He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and worried at it, unable to calm down. "But these things I'm thinking of feel real, and I just want to know the truth."

Ivan's hands became gentler, almost caressing. "What is it?"

"I see fire and I feel like I'm being chased and...I feel scared. A-And I see your face and I just want to know, what really happened on my birthday?"

Those hands kept caressing, fingers even coming up to trace the curve of his neck. He sighed and leant down to rest his lips in his hair, just above his ear. Matthew shuddered at the sensation of his breath ghosting across his sensitive skin. "You were very confused and very hurt, Matthew. I just wanted to take you away so you wouldn't have to spend your birthday alone thinking about the others that didn't care enough to wish you well. There was a small fire – a log fell out of the fireplace but we put it out. Nothing bad happened – I wouldn't have let anything happen." There was a slight accusatory note to his tone which both made Matthew bristle and feel guilty at the same time. Had Ivan really honestly come to help him? It was so difficult to believe but part of him really wanted it to be true, but the rest of him was still extremely wary. There were still pieces missing and Matthew was determined to have this puzzle completed.

"Alright," Matthew breathed, only just realising his mouth and throat were dry. He tried to swallow to alleviate the discomfort but to no avail. The last thing he wanted was to relive what he was seeing inside his mind. If Ivan was actually capable of making him that scared, of hurting him to the extent he was too traumatised that he forgot everything that had happened previously, then he didn't want to do anything to push him. Asking if he could leave was definitely out of the question for the time being, so whilst he waited for a safe opportunity to arise, he would make sure that he pleased Ivan in every way possible.

"Please believe me," Ivan knelt down beside the chair and rested his hands on Matthew's arms. "I know what it's like to be alone. My birthday goes by unnoticed and uncelebrated almost every year." Those eyes seemed to darken with barely-concealed pain and Matthew found he couldn't look into them anymore.

"I'm sorry," the Canadian apologised quietly, unsure of why he said it. Perhaps he was starting to believe that maybe Ivan really did want to help him, to make him happy and to care for him. It wouldn't be so bad, but he couldn't stay, not for so long. What about his boss, his people?

What about the others?

With his stomach sinking, Matthew closed his eyes and pushed the thought of the other nations out of his head. No one had called or written. He said he was used to being forgotten, that it didn't really matter, but he realised now that all he did was forget to think about being forgotten. He couldn't help being quiet or disappearing from sight, but perhaps if he wasn't so alone, if other nations paid more mind to him, it could change.

Matthew let out a long sigh and looked to Ivan once again. He was ready to smile and tell him that it would be alright, that they could make one another happy because he realised that he didn't really have anyone else, but he faltered. There was still that feeling... something still wasn't right about any of this. But for now he had to pretend that it was right so he could concentrate on going home. "Thank you. Thank you for caring. U-Uhm w-would it be alright if I went back upstairs to rest? I'm not feeling so well anymore."

Ivan's expression softened, as did his hold on Matthew's arm. "Alright. Perhaps later we could take a walk? I think you would love to see the Moskva and the Borodinsky Bridge, especially when it's dark outside." Matthew watched warily as Ivan got to his feet and held out his hand. He was about to say that it was okay, he didn't need his help to get up, but that child-like gleam in his eye made him feel guilty for wanting to refuse, so he carefully took Ivan's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"You're right; I would love to see those things." The Russian held onto his hand still, his grip tight (but not uncomfortably so). Matthew worried at his bottom lip slightly, unsure of where he should look or what he should say.

"I can see you're scared, _Matvey_," Ivan said softly, lifting the blond's chin so their eyes met directly. "Don't be scared. I am here for you; you know this, yes? I won't leave you alone or forget about you."

Matthew swallowed thickly, managed to nod, and when Ivan took his hand away and started to lead him towards the stairs, the Canadian let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding in. The fact that Ivan kept saying that he wouldn't leave him alone was unnerving, so much more so than anything else. Matthew even thought that if he admitted to kidnapping him, it would be much less worrying than him saying he wouldn't have to be alone again because Ivan would be there. Watching over him, day in and day out. _Never leaving his side_.

Matthew shivered at the thought of being trapped inside Ivan's house for a very long time. So many times he reprimanded his brother for saying nasty things about him, and thinking about it now, he'd made a lot of excuses for Ivan because he thought he was a misunderstood individual. It wasn't as if he'd had the most stable-minded bosses throughout his long history, unlike he or Alfred had, so it wasn't as if he could help the way he was, could he? Matthew really wasn't so sure anymore.

"Would you like me to lie with you?" Again, he choked on his refusal, especially when Ivan used that chillingly soft voice.

"I-It would be nice to have some company, yes."

For hours, Matthew lay there, and he swore that he didn't even blink. He just stared at the wall, completely tense. His skin prickled with unease and his heart was throbbing with anxiety. Not only could he hear Ivan's steady breathing, but he could feel the length of his body behind him even though they weren't touching, and he could feel those eyes burning into him from time to time. He tried not to jump whenever Ivan reached out to tousle the hair at the base of his neck, but he failed. He tried not to cry, but he failed. Silently, he let the tears roll down his cheeks and onto the pillow. He wanted to remember what happened so badly, but at the same time he didn't want to know. Ignorance was supposed to be bliss, wasn't it?

After the tears stopped, his eyes were too sore to keep open, so he closed them tight and willed himself to fall asleep. His head and heart hurt still, and if he slept he would be able to escape just for a few hours; he'd be able to dream, escape to his home where the sun made the maple leaves glitter gold in the late afternoon and he felt warm again.

* * *

**1955**

_Everywhere he looked, every time he met their gazes, their eyes would darken with accusation and distrust. He smiled and pretended that it was all alright because they'd won; the Allies had been victorious again. His home was safe from Hitler and from Germany, and now he had a new Comrade to keep him company. The Prussian was a little much to handle at times, but Ivan knew him as a child, and he knew how to tame other nations. Breaking Gilbert in wouldn't be such a difficult task._

_Despite all of this, though, there was still a sore, empty space inside his heart. Day after day he was rejected and openly despised for being Communist and, on some days, for being alive, too, it seemed. Only an hour before, after the conference ended for the day, Ivan approached Hannes Kalle. The Russian and the Dutch nation hadn't really been involved so much in the past, so he thought it would be a good idea for them to get to know one another. The more nations he knew personally, the better. Though unfortunately, as soon as the Northern nation approached him, Hannes flinched and his eyes flashed, though he covered it up with a particularly nasty scowl. He told Ivan to get the fuck out of his face and promptly stormed off. To say that Ivan was expecting the harsh rejection would have been a lie – he'd had enough hope to cloud his judgement. He thought that Hannes would greet him, perhaps shake his hand._

_But no._

_Ivan felt defeated. He was truly alone. No one wanted to know him, no one cared. _

_But it all changed when he heard a voice from behind him when he was eating his dinner alone in the hotel's restaurant. It was soft and sweet, and Ivan found he wanted to hear it again._

"_I-I'm sorry if I'm being forward, but I know you're a Communist a-and you're not like everyone else... but Hannes didn't have to react the way he did."_

_Ivan turned to see who the innocently alluring voice belonged to, but no one was there. He looked around the room but he was alone. _

"_You shouldn't listen to them. They're just scared." _

_Before his eyes, a blond, violet-eyed person appeared in the seat across from him. Ivan blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't just hallucinating from exhaustion. He knew who this was – it was Matthew Williams. That ignorant bastard Alfred's brother. _

"_Why are you apologising for him? I am assuming you never told him to say what he did, yes?"_

_Matthew lowered his eyes. "I-I was there beside him, but you didn't see me. I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. I'm sorry." _

_Before Ivan could say anything else, Matthew disappeared again. He quietly called out, but didn't get a response. It didn't matter to Ivan, though. That emptiness had started to fade away, and he didn't feel so alone. _

_From then on until he returned to Moscow, Ivan saw glimpses of Matthew from time to time, but they never spoke again. It didn't matter, though. The memory of his sweet voice was enough for Ivan for the time being. _

_If only I could make him mine..._

* * *

**End Notes:**

**During the Cold War, the Netherlands felt threatened by the Soviet Union and Communism more specifically. **

**Canada and Russia had a hostile relationship during this time, but of course, even though Matthew was being polite (I can see him feeling bad for Ivan even though they're not supposed to be friends) he wasn't being Ivan's friend, Ivan made it out to be something it wasn't because even though Russia was a part of the Allies, other nations were still wary because of the C word. I did set the last part in 1955 because after Stalin's death, Lester Pearson (Canada's Foreign Minister for NATO) went to the Soviet Union to talk to Nikita Khrushchev, the leader of the Soviet Union at the time. Canada had hoped that Stalin's death would have lessened the tension between the two of them, but it wasn't to be. **


End file.
